


Kiss It All Better

by ThisIsOnYouPrincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, I cried writing it, Marriage (kinda), Sad, and it's not proofread, bc it's 00:37 and i just finished it, but i posted it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2156997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIsOnYouPrincess/pseuds/ThisIsOnYouPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern Day AU Bellarke.<br/>And she cried:<br/>"Kiss it all better, I'm not ready to go.<br/>It's not your fault, love.<br/>You didn't know, You didn't know."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss It All Better

**Author's Note:**

> Right so: warning. I think this is really sad, you mightn't agree, but yeah. I think it's really sad and really bad and really unchecked. Because it's late and I reaaaaally need my beauty sleep.  
> Try to enjoy my oneshot!  
> Btw, 'graphic' depictions of violence are not really 'graphic' at all, I'm just paranoid.

__________________________________________________

**_He sits in his cell, and he lays on his bed._ **

**_Covers his head and closes his eyes._ **

**____________________________________________________ **

 

_Fucking stupid, Bellamy._ He tells himself. _You fucking stupid bastard. What good did doing what you did do?_ He shakes his head, pacing back and forth in the cell. One, two, three steps. One, two, three steps. Repeat. This is making the size of the cell more blatantly obvious to him and ensuring his discomfort by making him hyperaware of his own claustrophobia, but he carries on pacing, in spite of this. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. He pace until he’s dizzy and then beyond that. He keeps pacing and pacing and pacing until finally he falls down a little, drags himself up and drop himself onto the lumpy mattress of the bed in the cell. He can’t do this anymore, he decides. He watches the sun rise through the tiny window and thinks about when he and Clarke used to do this together — watch the sunset, that is. She was always entranced by it, she thought it was wonderful and beautiful, he’d spend the time watching her instead. He shakes the memory out of his head, it’s bathed in a golden light, but it just seems cruel to himself and to her thinking about such things where he is, in this damned place. 

He hasn’t had problems sleeping since he was 22, not since he met the girl he intended to wed. But that was until… whatever happened. And well, he hasn’t had a hour’s sleep since, let alone a full night. He’s awake every morning to watch the sunset without her, to bask in the memories of the relationship that was terminated so cruelly. It was his fault, really, of course it was. The light is streaming into the room, contrasting with his thoughts. He throws the thin sheet over his head, groaning and closing his eyes to block out the sun. It doesn’t feel right that the sun is still rising when his own personal sun is long gone. And _Of course_ it was his fault. There’s nothing gone wrong in his life that Bellamy hasn’t had a hand in. He’s a monster. He told Clarke that. And yet she didn’t listen. She got close to him anyway. But that didn’t last. His relationships never do. His mother. Octavia… All ended with premature terminations. He was never ready. He should learn, really, but he never does. Instead, he’s plagued with nightmares of the ones he’s lost. The most recent guest of honour being Clarke; His Princess; the girl he was so damn in love with that he was blindsided. 

 

_______________________________

**_He sees a smoking gun,_ **

**_And the coward he ran._ **

_______________________________

 

_Bellamy runs up the hill after Clarke, hearing a gunshot, his pace quickens and he’s now full on sprinting after his Princess. “Clarke?” he calls tentatively, as he nears the top of the hill, looking around the dark lands for his girl. “Princess? C’mon, come out. Stop messing around; I know you’re mad at me, but can’t we talk about it?” His tone is bordering on desperation, and he sees a dark figure a few metres away, jogging towards them to look at them, he peers into their face to see that it’s not his girlfriend. It’s a random kid, looking at him with complete fear and horror in his eyes, much to Bellamy’s confusion. He shakes it off as the kid turns and sprints away as quickly as he could. Bellamy looks around the mist-shrouded terrain for his girlfriend, instead seeing a hunched figure laying on the ground, a smoking figure laying next to her. Sending a silent prayer up to a God he’s not sure he believes in, he runs over to it. It’s Clarke. Of course it is. He knew that the second he saw her, he’d just hoped for a different outcome to this cruel game. “Clarke,” he breathes, skidding along the floor beside her. “Princess. Baby. Stay with me.” His voice is thick with tears as he stares at her, horror and tears clouded together in his brown eyes._

_“Is it bad?” She croaks, knowing the answer but for some perverse reason wanting to hear it out loud._

_“It was that kid wasn’t it?” He growls harshly. She looks away, breaking eye contact, giving him all the answer he needs._

_“I don’t know, Bell. I just… I didn’t see it coming. I’m sorry.” Her eyes are full of water, the tears spilling out over her cheeks and rolling on a path down her temples to meet the ground._

_“Don’t be sorry, Princess. It’s not you. It’s not you.”_ It’s me. _His dark mind tells him._ It’s all my fault. I got too close. I let another loved one die.

 

**_______________________________________ **  


**_And in his arms is the bleeding,_ **

**_Love of his life_ **

**_______________________________________ **

 

_Bellamy gathers Clarke up into his arms, attempting to cover her the best he can with his jacket, pressing a ripped arm of his tshirt onto the wound, trying to stop the bleeding._

_“You’re getting blood on you.” She points out meekly, pointlessly. Bellamy just shakes his head._

_“We need to get you to the hospital.” He says, desperately, frantically, as he wraps her tighter in his arms._

_“No… Bell.” She protests, and he looks at her in surprise. “I can feel it.” She tells him, “I’m going tonight.” She doesn’t specify where, but the implication hangs thick in the air between them, impenetrable even by the bullet embedded into Clarke’s body now. “I’m going tonight. And I want it to be just us when I go. No doctors. No drugs. I want to die looking at you, not some clinical ceiling or room or doctor. Please?” It will be the last thing she asks him, of course he can’t say no. But she’s asking a lot. She’s asking for him to watch her die, watch the light drain out of her eyes as the life leaves her body slowly, just like the blood pooling on his trousers now, soaking them. Her blood is everywhere, on his hands - it seems only fitting - all over his clothes, damn, it’s even on his face, in his hair. He can smell it and taste it. It’s everywhere._

 

______________________________________________________________

**_And she cried, “Kiss it all better, I’m not ready to go._ **

**_“It’s not your fault, love, you didn’t know, you didn’t know.”_ **

**________________________________________________________________ **

 

_Clarke is staring up at him, eyes glassy but not yet lifeless as he stares down at her, eyes bordering on lifeless, because she is his life. And when she goes, he won’t have a life worth living anymore, so why not shoot himself, why not die with her?_

_“How bad is it, Bell?” Clarke asks, not desperately. This isn’t a moment of weakness. It’s Clarke. Calm and composed for his sake, even on her way out of the world._

_“It’s…” His voice breaks off, allowing Clarke to read into the pause and see that she’s dying. Just like she thought._

_“Kiss it better.” She murmurs tiredly. “Kiss it better, Bell.” Bellamy’s eyes search her face, for meaning. “I’m not ready to go, Bell. I can’t leave you alone.” She cries._

_“Let me call the hospital, Clarke.” He pleads, pressing a tentative kiss to the corner of her mouth, where there’s starting to be a little blood seeping out, he rolls her onto her side, but so he can still see her._

_“No. I’m going tonight, whether I’m ready or not; whether I’m here or in the hospital, Bellamy, they won’t save me anyway. I’m good as dead, so let me die how I want, please.” Again, he can’t say no. Just inwardly weep for the life she’s losing - the life they’re losing._

 

_________________________________________________

**_Her hands are so cold, and he kisses her face_ **

**_And says “Everything will be alright.”_ **

**__________________________________________________  
_ **

 

_Clarke’s freezing cold hands grasp Bellamy’s warm ones - always warm, even today, even in the withering cold outside at night in the middle of November, his hands are warm. Bellamy is peppering her face with kisses, knowing soon it won’t be the same. Soon he’ll have this liberty taken away from him, and in the face of this realisation, he finds himself wishing that he’d have spent every day of his life kissing her; her lips, her forehead, her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, her neck, all of her._

_“Everything’ll be alright, Princess,” He murmurs, still kissing every inch of her face. “The pain will go away soon.” His voice breaks painfully and she hears but says nothing, just stares into his eyes. The fear in them has evaporated, she’s hiding it. She won’t let him hurt anymore, not for her. And she’ll spend the last days - minutes - of her life making sure he’s okay._

_“Everything will be fine.” She murmurs soothingly. “We’ll be fine.”_

 

_________________________________________________

**_He noticed the gun, and his rage grew in size,_ **

**_He said “I’ll avenge my lover tonight.”_ **

**___________________________________________________ **

 

_Bellamy glances around them, unable to watch Clarke any longer in fear the pain will take over and he’ll cry in front of her. There’s no way in hell he’s allowing himself to do that, though, so he looks away and stares at something next to him, just sitting next to his leg. There’s smoke billowing off of it and Bellamy stares at it with a confused look on his face, really focusing on it, trying to figure out what it is. It’s a gun. He knew she’d been shot. Of course he did. But he thought the bastard would have the decency to at least take the gun with him. Bellamy closes his eyes, before shaking his head. He can’t calm himself down. His hands tighten on Clarke’s and she makes an involuntary sound of protest, making him release them quickly. “I’ll get him, Princess.” He murmurs softly to her, pulling her so she’s properly sitting on his lap, kissing her hair. “I’ll get that bastard and I’ll shoot him with his own gun. But I’ll make his death more painful. He doesn’t deserve to leave the world the way you did. He doesn’t deserve death. That’s too good for him. He deserves to spend the rest of his life seeing you everywhere he looks, but no. We’ll have to settle.” He presses another kiss to the crown of her head. He knows exactly who he’s going for. “I’ll avenge you, Princess. Don’t worry.” Clarke wants to protest, she wants to tell him not to, but her energy is limited and she’s focusing it on keeping herself breathing. She can’t stop. Not yet. Not… yet._

 

**_______________________________________________________________________ **

**_And she cried “Kiss it all better, I’m not ready to go._ **

**_“It’s not your fault, love. You didn’t know. You didn’t know.”_ **

**_______________________________________________________________________ **

 

_Clarke’s eyes are dropping and Bellamy lets out a strangled cry. “I’m sorry, Clarke. I let you down. I should’ve protected you. I said nobody would ever hurt you. I should’ve known it would always be me. It’s my fault.” Tears are falling down his cheeks onto hers now, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s too wrapped up with Clarke and what’s happening to her. It’s his fault. It’s all Bellamy._

_“It’s not your fault, love. It’s not your fault, Bell. How were you supposed to know?” Clarke asks quietly, blue eyes on his brown ones. Bellamy’s cries are increasing in volume and Clarke is using all of her energy to stroke her thumb across his hand. “You didn’t know.” She mumbles softly. “You didn’t know.”_

_“Of course I knew.” He mutters, mostly to himself, but she turns her head to the side as if to dismiss the thought. “Of course I fucking knew.”_

_“You didn’t know.” Clarke whispers, her murmuring fainter than before. “You didn’t know.”_

 

_______________________________________________

**_Now he sits behind prison bars, 25 to life_ **

**_And she’s not in his arms._ **

_______________________________________________

 

Minimum 25 years, maximum life. That’s what they told Bellamy when he was shoved in here by two massive guards. At least 25 years behind these bars with criminals, all because his girlfriend was killed. All because he was overcome with grief - isn’t there some sort of excuse to get you off of prison when you’re overcome with grief? Is that not valid for a ‘young relationship’? Is Bellamy’s grief denoted because they weren’t married? It’s wrong. Bellamy is resisting punching the wall, because deep down he knows it won’t get him anywhere. He does it anyway. And _fuck_ does it hurt. But he carries on punching, he keeps going. _Not. Good. Enough. For. Clarke. Idiot. Killing. That. Man. Did. It. Bring. Clarke. Back? No._

He thinks about what Clarke would do in this situation. But Clarke’s not here. She’s not in his arms anymore. She’s in a casket, a coffin; her soul is on it’s ascent to heaven. And Bellamy’s stuck in this hellhole. Away from her. It’s always hurt him to be away from her, ever since he found out she felt the same way as him - before that, not that he’d admit it to himself - but now? Now it’s excruciating. He knows she won’t bail him out this time - she _can’t_ bail him out this time. She’s not here, in spirit, possibly. But not in mind. Not in body. She’s not here. He killed a man. And it still didn’t bring her back. She’s not here. 

 

___________________________________________________________

**_He couldn’t bring her back with a bullet to the chest,_ **

**_In the back of the man who tore his world apart._ **

____________________________________________________________

 

_He gets the man that night, with his own gun. He knows exactly where he’ll be. In a bar downtown, celebrating his victory over the nefarious Bellamy Blake. He bursts into the bar, looking wildly for the man. “MURPHY!” He yells, his voice deep and hoarse with grief and pain. Murphy’s head turns almost imperceptibly, but Bellamy sees and grabs him by the collar, carting him out of the bar. “Bellamy…” The guy, Miller, behind the bar sighs, but he’s gone, through the door with Murphy in his grasp._

_“What the fuck did you do?” Bellamy growls at him in the alley next to the bar, releasing the younger man - more like shoving - onto the rough floor, blocking the exit with his own body._

_“I don’t know what you mean, man.” Murphy tries to say, but his smirk obstructs the truth in his words. Bellamy stares at him._

_“Murphy. I know it was you. I fucking seen you, you bastard! Why Clarke?”_

_“She’s yours.” Murphy chuckles. “That’s what you told me that day, right? She’s yours? Well. Not anymore, Bellamy. She’s nobody’s now. Huh?” His laugh is hoarse with just a tint of nerves in there._

_“She’s mine. She will always be mine.”_

_“Right, your_ Princess. _That’s right, isn’t it, Bell?” Murphy sneers. “Y’know, I always thought that was sarcastic, that nickname. Didn’t think you’d actually fall for the psychotic bitch.” He rolls his eyes._

_“What the fuck did you call her?” Bellamy demands, grabbing Murphy by the scruff of the neck once more just to shove him on the floor again._

_“Your girlfriend.” Murphy says flatly, staring Bellamy out. He won’t win. He never has. “Look, Bellamy.” He laughs. “I think the Princess is dead.” Murphy glances at him slyly. “And I know that the King is about to die. So who’s gonna lead your people?” Bellamy rolls his eyes._

_“That’s what this was? A quest for power? Really, Murphy. You think the gang will follow you when I tell them what you’ve done?”_

_“You’ve done worse, Bellamy. But besides, I’m not planning on you coming back to tell your stories.” He reaches for the gun in the back of his waistband and his eyes widen when it’s not there._

_“Looking for this?” Bellamy demands. “Well, Murphy, you never did pay attention to me, did you? I always taught you to keep your gun with you. At. All. Times.” Bellamy smirks at the frightened boy at his feet. Pressing his finger to the trigger. “Just like I told Clarke, you don’t deserve to die like this. You deserve to have a death a thousand times more horrible.”_

_“Because I killed one girl? You’ve killed hundreds, Bellamy Blake. And don’t expect me to think it doesn’t bother you. It does, doesn’t it? All those kids who fought for you?_ Died _for you? And you thought it was a big game? 19 year old hotshot, calling the shots to a group of kids? How does it feel now, Bellamy? When you’re 23 and still haven’t gotten anywhere in life? Clarke’s gone. Your mother’s gone. You never did have a father, did you? Octavia’s on the brink of leaving on her own. You’ll have no one. You’ll be like the rest of us.” Murphy’s final expression is a sneer, because after Bellamy has punched and kicked fuck out of him._

_“You deserve to die. You bastard.” Are the final words spat out of Bellamy’s mouth before he pulls the trigger, ending the life that ended his._

 

**_____________________________________ **

**_He holds on to her memory,_ **

**_All it is is a memory._ **

**_____________________________________ **

 

To his surprise, he doesn’t think of Clarke laughing and smiling as he thought he would. He thinks of her screaming at him. Defending the local kids. Pushing him out of the way to tell the gang the truth about things. Crying over her mother. Crying over Wells. Blaming him. Fighting him. Kissing him. Hugging him. Comforting him. _I need you. You’re not a monster. I believe in second chances._ Saving him. Helping Octavia. Piecing his broken form back together. He remembers her cursing at Spacewalker. He sees her glancing at him that first day in the hospital as she fixed his wounds. He sees her face when she told him she was going on a date with Finn. He sees her falling off of the couch when she was drunk at Raven’s place. He sees her fighting and arguing with him. Yelling and screaming. Crying and trying to not let him see. He sees her sleeping in his arms. Writhing underneath him in pleasure. He sees her in her last moments, bleeding quickly out of a wound he can’t heal. Tears slowly making their way down her temples, because she was lying down. He sees her comforting him, even though she was the one dying. He sees her leaving the world, leaving him behind like she promised she never would. _You didn’t know, you didn’t know._

 

**_________________________________________________ **

**_He cries, Stay with me until I fall asleep._ **

**_Stay with me._ **

**_________________________________________________ **

 

_The police and paramedics arrive to see Bellamy crying in the alleyway, slumped next to the body of the bastard that killed his girlfriend, the only decent thing in his life. By now, Bellamy thinks, Clarke must be in the morgue or something. For an autopsy tomorrow when the doctors come in. He shudders at the thought of someone else's hands on her, even more so because they’re trying to determine her cause of death. He can tell them, but they’ll want to check, too. He’s been through this enough to know that. First with his mother, then Atom, then Wells, so many different people of all gender, shapes and sizes, all one cause of death: Bellamy Blake._

_“Sir, we’re going to need you to come with me.”_

_“My girlfriend.” Is all Bellamy says, as he’s dragged to his feet and (not-so-gently) taken to the car._

_“Who, sir? That was a man?” The policeman is obviously confused._

_“No… Clarke Griffin. My girlfriend. She’s- she’s dead. That bastard killed her.” Bellamy protests. “Clarke.” He whines. “Clarke.”_

_“Sir, where is your girlfriend?” Bellamy tells him in a pained voice. “Okay. And this man here killed her?” Bellamy nods. “Do you know what happened to him?”_

_“Killed him.” Bellamy smiles softly, eerily._

_“Who?”_

_“Me.”_

_“Sir, we are arresting you on the suspicion of the murder of John Murphy.” The officer says seriously, taking Bellamy’s wrists and cuffing them, pushing him into the car with a sympathetic glance before climbing in the front and driving away. His colleagues take care of Murphy’s body._ I hope he burns in hell. _Bellamy thinks with vigour and bitterness. Fatigue sets into his troubled mind and he closes his eyes, leaning his head on the seat behind him._ Stay with me, Clarke. _He thinks._ Stay with me until I fall asleep. Please.

 

**_________________________________________________ **

**_He cries, Stay with me until I fall asleep._ **

**_Stay with me._ **

**_________________________________________________ **

 

_“Is the defendant found guilty or not guilty?” The judge asks the jury. Bellamy hangs his head. He knows the answer. He did it. Of course he’s guilty. The speaker of the jury glances over at him — is that an apology in her eyes or is it just him? — “Guilty, your honour.” She tells him with another glance at Bellamy before sitting down. Bellamy closes his eyes._

_“I hereby sentence Bellamy Blake to 25 years in jail suspended.” Bellamy’s head hangs, the slight glint of hopefulness in his eyes gone._ Life in jail. _He hears Octavia gasp softly from behind him and he closes his eyes, trying to conceal the tears and keep them in his tear-ducts. He opens his eyes to glance around the courtroom to see a Security Guard near him to take him down to the prison and then see his sister and some of the kids from the gang in the pews. Miller is there too, looking at him sorrowfully. He looks away from everyone. He can’t bear the disappointed and sad looks in their eyes. He’s pushed down the steps, away from the only family he’d had since he was 15 years old._ Stay with me, Clarke. Please stay. 

 

**_________________________________________________ **

**_He cries, Stay with me until I fall asleep._ **

**_Stay with me._ **

**_________________________________________________ **

 

_He’s sat in a solitary cell - he doesn’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse. 25 years to himself. 25 years with just himself for company. He looks around him, taking in the view of the room that will be his for pretty much the rest of his life. Clarke would make the best of this situation. She would tell Bellamy it was okay, because they’re together and that 25 years together can’t be a bad thing. She’d cover the walls with drawings and sketches and make the place seem more homely the best she could with the meagre supplies they’re allowed in this hellhole._

_But Clarke isn’t here. Clarke will never be here again._

Stay with me, Clarke. Please. 

**_________________________________________________ **

**_He cries, Stay with me until I fall asleep._ **

**_Stay with me._ **

**_________________________________________________ **

 

_He remembers the day he told Clarke about his childhood. He’d screamed and raged until she’d finally stood up, probably terrified and definitely about to leave. He was lying on the bed by this point, dried tear tracks on his cheeks, eyes staring up at the ceiling. He’d rolled away from her somewhere in the midst of his verbal abuse of her. He’d glanced over and seen her pulling on a jacket she’d slung over the footboard with a laugh when she’d first walked into his bedroom. “Trying to tell me something?” She’d laughed, at his position, just lying on the bed, watching her. He’d rolled his eyes and she’d looked hurt. “Bell… I was kidding.” She’d told him, confused and he’d proceeded to scream at her._

_On her way out of the door, he’d made a feeble attempt to make her stay, croaking from the bed. “Clarke, Princess, I’m so sorry. Please… Stay. I sleep better with you here. Stay with me, please. Until I fall asleep.” He’d expected her to say no, he wouldn’t have been surprised, he wouldn’t have blamed her. But instead she’d turned in the doorway to look at him, apparently she saw something worth staying for, because she pulled off her clothes and pulled on one of his discarded tshirts, pulling back the covers and climbing into his bed. “One night, Bell. If this happens again, I won’t stay.” She’d vowed and he’d nodded into her hair, where his face had buried itself when he gravitated towards her the second she was under the covers._

_“It won’t happen again.” He’d promised, like a child._

_But it had. And that ultimately led to her demise._

 

**___________________________________ **

**_Kiss it all better,_ **

**_I’m not ready to go_ **

**___________________________________ **

 

Clarke is in his dreams tonight, just like every other night. But tonight, she isn’t angry, or loving. It’s a lot worse. She’s _desperate_. Pleading with him. Asking him to save her. Her eyes are pained, like she never allowed them to be in real life. Her hands are frantic in his, asking him for help. _“Please,_ Bellamy. You can save me. You’re the only one, Bell. Please save me.” Bellamy’s shaking his head. How? What does he do? How can he save her? Why is he the only one? All of the questions obscure his mind as he sees the life draining from her eyes. “Please, Bellamy.” Her voice is faint, now. “Don’t let me go. Don’t let me be like the others.” Her eyes are pleading on his, giving him intense pains in his chest. “I’m not ready to go. Kiss it better, Bell.” He stares at her, hands frantically fluttering over her face and body. “Kiss it better.” It’s barely a whisper, and as he realises what he has to do, as he realises what he has to do. He presses his lips to hers, but it’s too late. The last breath she will ever take has already left her parted lips. _Please, Bellamy. Kiss it better. I’m not ready to go._ Her words haunt him and he wakes up even more prematurely than usual. 

 

**_______________________________________ **

**_It’s not your fault, love_ **

**_You didn’t know, you didn’t know_ **

**_______________________________________ **

 

It was always the same words when he said something that hurt her and he himself was hurting about it afterwards. He’d look at her and say he was sorry. She’d shake her head with a gentle smile on her face - way too soft than the situation warranted. _It’s not your fault, Bell._ She’d say quietly, gently. _You didn’t know._ She should’ve been angry with him, she should’ve stormed out, and sometimes she did. But she always came back. That was her biggest mistake. _Damn, Clarke._ He thinks as her words swim around her head. _Of course it was my fault. It’s always my fault. You should’ve left, the first time, the second and every time after that, but you didn’t. And that’s your hamartia, Princess. You should’ve left, but you didn’t. You’d still be alive now. I wouldn’t be looking at you, but you’d be alive. And I’d rather you be here, on the same planet as me - even if we’re not in the same room - safe, than… wherever it is that you are now._

_It’s not your fault, Bell. You didn’t know._ The words won’t leave his head, he hears them clear as day, in her voice. It’s true, sometimes he didn’t know, sometimes he did. But he’d always smile at her and accept it, because he was selfish and he wanted her there with him. He’d loved those words in the past, they allowed him an escape, a way to keep her near. Now, having heard her say them on her death bed. _Shh, Bell. It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.You didn’t know._ He _hates_ them. He wishes that those words weren’t ever brought into the English language - or any language. He wishes that he wouldn’t be so selfish. So many damn wishes, no point in any of them. He remembers one time, it feels like a lifetime ago. They were stargazing in the local park, because Clarke loved that shit and Bellamy loved Clarke. A shooting star had flew across the sky and Clarke watched in amazement and turned to Bellamy, excited. 

_“Can you wish on that kind of shooting star?” She asks, glancing up at him. He doesn’t know how to answer. He’d long given up on such superstitions, but he couldn’t crush her hopes. “Forget it,” She mumbles, clearly miffed that he hadn’t answered her._

_“I wouldn’t know what to wish for.” He murmurs softly. She hears him and looks up in surprise. The truth is, he does know what he’d wish for. But there’s so much he’d like to ask for that he doesn’t know where to start. He wants Clarke to be happy and safe. He wants Clarke to stay with him forever. He wants those two wishes to coincide. He wants Octavia to be happy. He wishes she’d have had a better childhood, that he could’ve given her more. He wishes that he could have had a childhood, of any kind. He wishes Aurora Blake was still alive, for his and O’s sake. He wishes Jake Griffin was still alive, for Clarke’s and Abby’s sake._ So many damn wishes. So little point. 

 

**_______________________________________ **

**_Stay with me until I fall asleep,_ **

**_Stay with me_ **

**_______________________________________ **

 

He’s jiggling nervously at the altar of a church. The doors open down the front, letting a full stream of sunlight into the church, illuminating everything, but Bellamy can’t see anything other than Clarke. Clarke who is in a wedding gown. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes alight as she waltzes up the aisle to Bellamy on her father’s arm. Her arm is taken out of her father’s arm and her hand placed in Bellamy’s. Jake looks at him sternly. 

“You hurt her, son, and…” He trails off, looking around him. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do when we get out of this church.” His tone is serious, and Bellamy doesn’t doubt it, but Jake’s eyes are sparkling with mirth as he hands his daughter over. Bellamy nods politely, not trusting himself to speak as Jake walks away and stands at the bride’s side of the altar, alongside Octavia and Raven in their bridesmaids dresses (Raven not looking too happy about the dress but there nonetheless) and Abby looking proud as Punch. Bellamy then glances at Miller stood next to him, second in command always, then Jasper, always his third - once his best shooters, now his best friends. Clarke is radiant, grinning at him as he finally turns himself to look at the girl who will - in just over half an hour - be his wife. The priest starts the ceremony and Bellamy takes a deep breath. _The first page of the rest of his life._

**_______________________________________ **

**_Stay with me until I fall asleep,_ **

**_Stay with me_ **

**_______________________________________ **

 

Bellamy and Clarke are crowded nervously around a white stick. 

“So let me get this straight, you piss on this thing and it tells you if there’s a baby in you?” Bellamy asks, confused. Clarke laughs. 

“It could be put more elegantly than that, but yeah.” Bellamy nods. 

“Okay, what’s it say?” He’s ready to be a father. He knows it. He can’t wait to have a baby boy - or a baby girl, but preferably the boy first, so he can protect her like Bellamy always protected Octavia, although he’s hoping his little boy never has to. 

“I’m pregnant.” Clarke looks at him, a slow, easy grin breaking it’s way onto her face. “Bellamy! We’re going to be parents!” She jumps at him and he catches her easily, spinning her around and kissing her face. “I’m gonna be a dad.” He mutters, to himself. “I’m going to have a baby. _We’re going to have a baby.”_

 

**_______________________________________ **

**_Stay with me until I fall asleep,_ **

**_Stay with me_ **

**_______________________________________ **

 

Clarke is in the delivery room, groaning and Bellamy is thinking that the pain in his hand - the blood has left his fingers, and he’s sure that a few bones have left with it - has to be something akin to what Clarke is feeling in the bed. But once glance at her face and he shakes his head. Nope. Definitely not. Her speech is a stream of expletives that are not at all becoming of a princess, but he reminds her of this and she threatens to slap him (and adds something else that isn't fit to be written and recorded). She’s vowing to never let him touch her again, and he’s looking at her worriedly when the doctor laughs good-naturedly. 

“It’s being said in the heat of the moment, son. Don’t listen to her.” 

“Sir, you don’t know my wife.” Bellamy laughs. “When she says something she _really_ means it. Like _really.”_ The doctor laughs once more and shakes his head. 

“I’ve changed my mind.” Clarke yells and Bellamy also collapses with relief. Then she continues speaking. “I don’t fucking want the baby. It can stay in there.” She’s squeezing Bellamy’s hand with everything in her - and _honestly, she’s got a lot more strength_ than _he thought she did - he won’t worry about her out on her own anymore._

“Nearly there, Mrs Griffin-Blake.” The nurse urges. 

“It’s just Blake.” Bellamy says at the same time as Clarke says

“It’s just Griffin.” They scowl at each other for a minute and then the next wave of pain hits Clarke and it’s taken out on Bellamy’s poor hand. 

“Here he is.” The nurse beams. “Does dad want to cut the umbilical cord?” Bellamy nods and takes the scissors, eyes shining as he cut the cord connecting his son to his wife, just like he did all those years before with his mother and sister. I’ve come a long way since then. He thinks, as his son is cleaned up and placed in Clarke’s arms. We’ve come a long way since then. He walks over to his baby boy and his wife - his _family -_ beaming at them. 

“Hey, baby.” Clarke is cooing. “Mommy didn’t mean those mean things. She loves you and daddy very much. Hear that, Jake Wells Griffin-Blake?” Bellamy looks at her, smiling at the name in honour of the two most important men in her life before himself. “Mommy and daddy love you very much. And you’re named after the two most important men in mommy’s life before you and daddy came along. They’re not here anymore, but that’s okay, because I have you and Daddy and that’s all I need.” Bellamy presses a kiss to her forehead, taking hold of her free hand and his son’s tiny one. He finally knows what it is to be a family.

 

**_______________________________________ **

**_Stay with me until I fall asleep,_ **

**_Stay with me_ **

**_______________________________________ **

 

Bellamy shoots up in the bed. The dreams were so vivid. So clear of what could’ve been. Everything they could’ve had. Everything they _should've_ had. And they didn’t. When he cries now, the sounds are muffled but guttural and painstaking. The sobs are drawn from his body as his form wracks with the need for air. He cries like he promised himself he never would following his mother’s death when he was 16. He cries for his mother, who would’ve known what to do. He cries for Octavia, who deserved a better life than she got. He cries for Atom and for Charlotte and everyone else, who should’ve been allowed full lives before they were taken away from them by a life that promised of riches and delivered bullets. He cries for the children he and Clarke never could have - their little Prince Jake Wells and Princess Aurora Charlotte, who would’ve been Prince and Princess of their parents’ hearts, rather than him, King of the local gang, and his mother the Princess of the local hospital. No, their children deserved better than that. They deserved better than this world. And maybe that’s what they got. Now, he cries for the world. For everyone. He cries for everyone whose life he touched and ruined. 

Most of all, he cries for Clarke. Because it was Clarke that patched him up after every fight. It was Clarke who comforted him even when her worries were more substantial than his. It was Clarke that made his insecurities go away and its as Clarke that taught him to love himself. It was Clarke who patiently sat and listened to story after story of his childhood, of Octavia, of the kids in the gang. It was Clarke stayed, even after all of the horrible things he said to her. It was Clarke who whose understanding blue eyes and gentle hands fluttered over him whenever he lost himself, brought him back to the earth, back to her. It was Clarke that he wanted and couldn’t have. 

Because it was Clarke lying dead in that run down park on a Saturday night, wrapped in a blanket of mist and the black sky and wearing the shroud of the few silver stars in the sky. It was Clarke who was just close enough that he could hear her last breath, her last words; but just far enough that he couldn’t do anything about it. It was Clarke that he couldn’t save. 

And as Bellamy ends his own life with a prison-made weapon, it’s Clarke hovering over him, it’s Clarke pushing his hair back as the life leaves his body and Clarke kissing his eye lids. 

_Stay with me until I fall asleep. Stay with me._

 

Somewhere above, there’s a blonde-haired angel watching the boy she loved - loves - deteriorate and watching the life leave his body just like he watched the life leave hers. She’s watching him with silver tears dripping down her cheeks, thinking about how he’ll be by her side soon, because deep down underneath everything, he’s a good person, just like she was. She’s crying, too. She’s crying for the father she lost as a young girl and the mother who killed him. She’s crying for the best friend who died too young and the host of teenagers that went with him. She's crying for the teenagers left behind. She’s crying for Bellamy and his family, torn apart when they were too young. She’s crying for everyone whose life was ruined by her and her ways.

Most of all, she’s crying for Bellamy. Because it was Bellamy who was willing to be the monster so that she could be the angel. It was was Bellamy who was willing to get the blood, sweat and tears on his hands so that hers could stay clean. It was Bellamy who taught her how to shoot and defend herself. It was Bellamy who taught her how to drive. It was Bellamy who sat and listened whilst she ranted about Finn even though it was Bellamy who loved her from the very start. It was Bellamy who held her hand tight when she was alone in the dark and it was Bellamy who never did let go, even when she left the world. 

She cries because it’s Bellamy lying on that prison bed now, the blood leaving his arms and the life leaving his eyes. It’s Bellamy whose soul she will retrieve in a few minutes time, and bring up here. It’s Bellamy who will face judgement because it was Bellamy who ended his own life because he couldn’t deal with the end of hers. 

 

Now, there are another two angels standing side by side way up above, watching the rest of us wonder around this place blindly. There are two angels who try to guide us the best they can, even when we don’t listen to their instructions. It is the male angel who has long since forgotten his name, but watches an olive-skinned brunette with his eyes, hold her baby boy for the first time with the fondness that he held her when he was just 6 years old and still a mortal being. It is the female angel who looks over a bric-a-brac family of their old friends heal each other, after the loss of their two dear friends. It is these two angels who messed up so in their lives, so that they can help us lead ours. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, I wasted your time on that. It's really not my best work, but I've been working on it for a few days and I'm going to bed rn so i thought what the hell,I'll just post it up now and proofread it in the morning. And that last paragraph is an absolute piece of shit (mind my language) so tell me if I should take it out please?  
> Criticism is welcome as long as it's constructive and isn't just telling me I write badly.  
> Nice comments are appreciated, as are kudos and anything else you feel like gracing me with :D  
> Btw, I'm working on a longer piece of work (like, much longer) which is up to 15k and still not finished so what do we think of that? It's kind of based on this but not really. Like the themes are very much similar like the gang thing and stuff but it's still really different.  
> Thank youuu!


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